


Spring Training

by Pun



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:15:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pun/pseuds/Pun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jorge accidentally observes Alex and Derek in a private moment, he and Derek have a conversation about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spring Training

**Author's Note:**

> During spring training 2008 both Alex Rodriguez and Jorge Posada sat out briefly with sore right lat muscles. This is set during that period.
> 
> Many thanks to Lenore for the beta and the encouragement.
> 
> The events of this story are purely fictional. They represent the author's imaginings and not the true lives or characters of the people represented.

Jorge loved the clubhouse in Tampa when it was empty. Much as he always craved the start of a new season, each year there were more young strangers around to remind him that he was another year older, and an absence or two that made the fact that his days were numbered as well impossible to ignore. This new soreness in his shoulder that had kept him long after all the other guys had gone home was another unpleasant signal that he was getting old, but at least when he was all alone he could escape into memory. Without any of the kids around to break the illusion, he could close his eyes and think back to his first few years at big league camp when he was the future of the great New York Yankees. He liked to close his eyes and pretend that around the next corner he was going to run into Tino, or Donnie, or Joe. Man, he missed Joe. He missed him double because he was missing him on Derek’s behalf as well.

Mo was more pragmatist than sentimentalist, and Andy had his three years in Houston, but Jorge knew that for Derek losing Torre was akin to a sailor discovering one morning that the sea had turned orange.

He was so caught up thinking of Joe and Derek that it took him a second to realize that the sound of Derek’s voice coming from the lockers was real and not part of his memories. Derek hadn’t told Jorge he was going to wait for him, and Jorge had assumed that he was going to use the afternoon off to deal with all the crap entailed in building a new house. The construction had been keeping Derek even busier than usual lately, and they’d barely had any time to hang out and goof off like they normally did at camp. Not for the first time, Jorge thought that Derek could use a wife to handle these types of annoyances.

Jorge sped up, moving toward the sound of Derek’s voice. He could hear him more distinctly saying, “Where does it hurt? Here?”

“Ow! Yes.” That was Alex. He’d finished with the trainers faster than Jorge had. Their injuries were the same, but Alex’s seemed to be giving him less trouble.

“I don’t believe you. I think you just wanted to sit your lazy ass on the bench for a few days,” Derek was saying. “It hurts right there? You sure?”

Jorge smiled a little at Derek ribbing Alex as usual. Alex was probably the only one driven more insane by being on the bench than Derek, and they all loved to tease him about faking whenever he was injured.

Jorge rounded the corner to see Derek poking Alex in the back just under his right shoulder blade. Alex was grumbling and trying to twist away from Derek in the narrow space between the bench and the lockers.

“Wait. C’mere,” Derek said, reaching his left arm around Alex’s body to hold him in place. “Let Dr. Derek take a look at you.” Jorge wasn’t used to hearing Derek sound like that when he spoke to Alex. His tone was still teasing but also really fond, almost tender. As he rubbed Alex’s sore lat muscle with his right hand, Jorge saw Alex relax and lean back into the touch.

A prickling sensation broke out across Jorge’s skin as realization hit him like a physical force. Derek’s frequent trips to Miami over the winter, his constant “appointments with the contractors,” and the way he didn't seem to get ticked anymore when Alex followed him around all the time like an awe-struck A-baller all took on a new and disturbing meaning.

Alex was sighing and making little grunts of appreciation as Derek continued to work the sore muscle, rubbing and digging his thumbs in. He turned to look over his shoulder at Derek, lips pursed and inching ever closer to Derek’s as he tilted his head back. A few more seconds and Jorge would lose any chance of escape.

Jorge cleared his throat as noisily as possible and watched the flurry of ensuing movement. Derek whirled around as Alex jumped away from him with a speed that would have been comical if Jorge’s stomach weren’t roiling, and his throat wasn’t so tight that it ached.

Derek’s eyes were wide and inscrutable, and Jorge almost thought he saw a flash of anger before his attention got distracted by Alex blurting out, “I’m sorry.” Jorge turned toward Alex, but he was looking at Derek. “We didn’t realize, um . . .” Alex trailed off, shooting Jorge an unhappy glance before looking down at his shoes.

“I’m just--” Jorge felt warmth in his cheeks and wondered why he was the one blushing. He cleared his throat for real this time. “I just need to grab my shit.” I wasn’t spying he wanted to say.

“No, no. I’m on my way out,” Alex said, grabbing his leather jacket from his locker and shrugging it on. “I’m sorry,” he said again. His voice was a little high, and his gaze never quite reached Jorge’s face as he hurriedly patted himself down to locate his keys.

Jorge crossed his arms and waited for Alex to leave, watching Derek who was frowning at the floor.

Alex paused as he passed Derek on his way out. “I’ll see you later?” he asked, voice soft and a look on his face like a kid writing a letter to Santa. Jorge noticed the twitch of his hand like he was about to reach for Derek’s arm.

“Yeah, maybe,” Derek said casually, but Jorge saw the way his eyes followed Alex to the door and lingered even after it closed behind him.

Jorge had always sort of known, really. The fact that Derek inevitably had a hickey the day after a game with Seattle hadn’t completely slipped by him. But back then he’d had bigger things to worry about. Who Derek fooled around with didn’t have any impact on whether Torre was going to start him or Girardi, or if he was going to get traded, or how to limit the damage when Rogers didn’t have his best stuff.

Back then he wasn’t Derek’s best friend. Alex was.

With Alex gone, Derek pulled his glove from his locker and took a sudden deep interest in the laces, frowning and picking at them. Jorge knew that this was his cue to say something reassuring, that it was okay, or that it didn’t make any difference to him, but the words were getting stuck in his throat, and he didn’t quite manage it before Derek said, “So how long were you there?”

“Long enough.”

“This knot is stuck.”

“So give it to equipment,” Jorge said impatiently. His jaw was clenching, and he was worried he wouldn’t be able to breathe if his throat got any tighter. He wanted Derek to stop refusing to look at him, to own up and say it to his face, and not keep sneaking around.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said and bit his lip. “We shouldn’t have— I’m really sorry.” That was so unlike Derek that Jorge didn’t know if he wanted to hug him or hit him. Derek _never_ apologized for his choices. He moved through the world with a confidence that would be arrogance if not for his "aw shucks" grin and his plentiful acts of charity.

“You should have told me.”

“I know,” Derek said, meeting Jorge’s eyes steadily, more like the Derek he knew who never apologized but did own up like a man when he was wrong.

“Not like I’m gonna freak out on you.” The way that he still couldn't quite breathe normally, and his face was still hot and his voice unsteady indicated that Jorge might, in fact, be in the process of freaking out just a little. But Jorge hadbeen in this game all his life. He knew what guys got up to, and it was really no big deal. Well, no big deal in the abstract, anyway, or when it was someone other than Derek and Alex.

“I didn’t want you to have to lie for me,” Derek said.

Jorge didn’t think keeping this secret was really for his own benefit, but he shrugged and half nodded at Derek rather than arguing the point.

“And it kinda just came out of nowhere, you know? I certainly wasn’t planning on it happening. But this is— I’m really happy about this, Jorgie.” A smile broke out on Derek’s face, one dimple appearing in his right cheek, and a look in his eyes that could only be called hopeful.

Again, Jorge had that feeling like he was shooting a commercial or a promo for the network and there was a girl in the corner holding up a cue card with “I’m happy for you” printed on it in big block letters, but he went off script and said, “I just think you should watch out, that’s all.”

Derek’s smile collapsed into a thin, flat line. “You don’t like Alex,” he said matter-of-factly. His features settled into that grim cast that Jorge knew all too well from countless meetings on the mound in losing games. The look that said: “I’m disappointed, but I accept that you are doing the best you can with the flawed material that you have to work with.”

“Sure I like Alex,” Jorge objected. As much as it was possible to like someone who was younger, richer, stronger, and the reckless owner of his best friend’s heart.

“No, it’s all right. I understand. It’s just—“ Derek’s hand lifted from his side to trace vague shapes in the air in front of him. “—I can’t help it.”

The confession startled a laugh out of Jorge. “No one can help it, Jeter.” Derek’s furtiveness suddenly made a lot more sense. He disdained any lack of self-control, and so it must be particularly unpleasant for him to discover it in himself. Jorge laughed again. “You know what? I thought you were acting all moody because you missed Joe.”

“Oh god, Joe!” Derek buried his face in his hands. “What would he say?” he mumbled to his palms.

“I think he’d say, ‘Just don’t let it affect your hitting.’” Jorge did his best at affecting Joe’s gruff deadpan.

“You’re probably right.” Derek flashed a half-hearted smile and flipped his glove back into his locker. “Come on, let’s go get some dinner.”

“Yeah? You have time?”

“Of course,” Derek said, giving him a gentle swat to the back of the head.

His mood brightening, Jorge felt he could be generous. “You can invite Alex, if you want.”

Derek shook his head, and Jorge felt even better, good enough to say, “I do like him, you know.” You could like someone without trusting him. “We should all hang out some time. Andy could use the distraction.”

Derek raised his eyebrows and a huge grin cracked his face. “You know, Alex would love that.”

Jorge laughed realizing how true that was.

“He’d call me up five times just to ask what he should wear.” Derek extended his thumb and pinky to pantomime talking on the phone and said in his Alex voice, “Hey, DJ, I was thinking of wearing the grey Armani, but do you think that’s too formal? What’ll Jorgie be wearing?”

“Tell him I’m wearing jeans. No, wait, tell him shorts.”

“And then we all show up in suits,” Derek crowed.

“No, tuxes!” Jorge felt his throat and chest loosening the more he laughed until the feeling of dread that had clenched his heart from the moment he had seen Derek and Alex together slipped mostly away.

The truth was, he thought this whole thing between Derek and Alex was trouble. Alex would let Derek down again, or betray him, and if it got really out of hand, it could even wind up costing them the season. But Jorge resolved not to waste too much time worrying about what he couldn’t control. Derek would come out all right in the end. He had a pretty solid best friend.


End file.
